Who Am I? (4)
She was a woman who resembled a piano.
Black strands mixed among her pure white hair, and though her fingers were pure white, her nails were painted black. A woman composed only of black and white, and thus resembling a piano, looked at Najin and introduced herself.
Like a performer offering a greeting to the audience.
"My name is Violet. How did you find my performance, strange guest?"
She introduced herself as Violet.
Then she gazed at Najin with shining eyes. It seemed she was expecting his impressions of the performance—a rather burdensome gaze for Najin.
"I don't know much about music."
"That's quite all right! You don't necessarily need to know music well to enjoy it. I'm asking for your impressions, not a critic's review."
"In that case..."
Najin retraced the performance he had just heard.
Then he conveyed his impressions just as he felt them.
"It was intense. I thought the rain would interfere with the performance, but that wasn't the case. Rather, even the sound of the rain felt like part of the performance..."
Hesitantly, Najin spoke of his impressions of the music. With every word of his, Violet nodded and listened attentively.
"I can't explain it well, but I liked it. Enough that I clapped without thinking."
"That's the highest praise a performer can receive. Not all performers are like this, but I feel the joy of being alive when someone applauds my performance."
Violet smiled.
"Guest? Do you happen to have other plans for today?"
"No. Not particularly."
"Then, might you give me this day?"
When Najin tilted his head, she added.
"I'd like you to listen to a bit more of my performance. And if you would share your impressions like just now, that would be even better. If a whole day is difficult... could you do so at least until this rain stops?"
Najin looked out the window.
The rain that had begun so suddenly was a shower. Listening to the performance until this rain stopped wasn't a particularly difficult request.
"Let's do that."
When Najin said so, Violet's face brightened completely. She sat back in the chair and placed her fingers on the keys. Closing her eyes and feeling the keys, she soon began to play as if humming.
In the old, dust-covered abandoned tavern, an untainted, beautiful performance rang out.
"Hey, where are you rushing off to..."
Merlin, who had followed Najin into the shop belatedly, looked alternately at Najin and Violet before closing her mouth. Then she quietly sat down beside Najin and listened to the performance.
Though usually talkative and chatty, Merlin knew when to be silent. For as long as Violet played the piano, Merlin kept her silence—as if saying that was courtesy to the performer.
And around the time the performance ended, Merlin rose from her seat and applauded. It wasn't merely out of courtesy to the performer; she seemed to have been genuinely impressed.
"Leconte's Concerto No. 7, right?"
At Merlin's words, Violet's eyes widened—as if she hadn't expected anyone to recognize this piece.
"To think there was still someone left who could play this? It's not just playing the existing piece, but with some variations... including that, it was wonderful!"
Najin was equally surprised.
When Najin looked at Merlin with a fresh gaze, sensing that look, Merlin shrugged and lifted her chin.
"What? I'm a cultured woman. Classical music is the height of culture. I may not look it, but I can play a few instruments too."
"That's really unexpected."
"What do you take me for?"
Well, he had thought of her as some kind of half-baked great mage. Since that monologue would never reach Merlin, this time it could remain an internal thought.
"Other pieces? Are there more? It's been so long since I heard any—it's really good."
"Of course there are. Then this time..."
Violet continued to play.
She had said she would play until the rain stopped, but the rain did not stop and fell endlessly. The shower that had seemed like it would end after a short while continued deep into the night.
Likewise, the concert that had seemed like it would be brief also continued without rest until late at night.
The sound of rain. The sound of the piano. And silence.
That day, the bell did not ring. Ladon did not appear, and Viola Oldina did not sortie. The sound of glass shattering was not heard, nor did praise and applause for Viola pour forth.
Only the sound of the piano rang out in the old tavern.
Similar days repeated.
On days when the sun shone brightly, Ladon appeared without fail. Viola sealed Ladon back behind the glass, and the streets filled with praise for Viola.
"..."
On sunny days, even if they visited the old tavern, Violet did not appear. Only the piano stood alone.
But on rainy days—
Whoosh...
Between the sound of raindrops striking, the piano sound rang out. When they visited the tavern, Violet was always striking the keys.
"Welcome, strange guests!"
As if she had been waiting for Najin and Merlin, she had even set out chairs separately by the piano. What she wished for was the same as last time.
To listen to the performance until the rain stopped.
And to share impressions.
Merlin, who accurately recognized her pieces and gave detailed critiques, and Najin, who knew nothing of music but... thus conveyed his pure impressions as he felt them. Listening to the two's impressions, Violet smiled pleasantly.
As if truly satisfied.
Such days continued. And from some point, what Violet shared was not only performances. She began to tell stories.
"Heroes—in fairy tales they're always described so beautifully... but I sometimes think this."
As if to herself.
As if monologuing, she muttered.
"Heroes—maybe they're all just lunatics."
"Why is that?"
"Think about it. The heroes in fairy tales fight risking their lives. And not for themselves, but for others. For complete strangers they've never even spoken to, let alone seen their faces, they shed blood and fight, right?"
Violet laughed.
It wasn't her usual laugh.
"Does that make sense? Fighting is hard. Shedding blood hurts. Enduring that pain solely for others is something I just can't understand. I can't even empathize. I don't know why they do it."
And yet, she said.
"Heroes keep fighting. Why? Probably because from the moment they start being called heroes, an obligation is forcibly imposed on them."
"Obligation?"
"Yes, obligation. Because a hero must be like this. Because a hero is one who willingly sheds blood for the many. Because that's the right thing. An obligation whose origin is unknown. And if they break that obligation? Criticism pours down. At some point, goodwill becomes obligation, and what was enjoyed through goodwill transforms into a right."
Boom—
A key was pressed, producing a heavy sound.
"Goodwill can't last forever. Even if you save someone with good intentions, that's just saving them once by chance—how can you repeat that forever? Heroes need to have lives too. They weren't born as heroes from the start, right?"
But.
"Goodwill has already become obligation. You can't run from something that's become obligation. Once a hero, always a hero. Isn't that the perfect situation to go crazy?"
A bitter smile formed on Violet's lips.
"Until their bodies wear away."
She looked at her fingers.
"Until they can no longer move."
Her fingers were stained black. The blackened fingers were trembling—regardless of her will.
"Endlessly, endlessly, endlessly..."
Rotting, crumbling fingers.
Hiding the fingers that could no longer strike the keys, Violet turned to Najin.
"So you see."
Her hair was no longer white.
The hair that had been composed of white and black had, at some point, been stained black. Her eyes no longer shone either. On her lips, instead of a natural smile, hung a forced one.
With a gloomy expression, Violet—
No, Viola Oldina opened her mouth.
"Heroes are lunatics."
She slowly moved her body.
The rain that had seemed likely to fall deep into the night stopped the moment she moved. As if asking when it had even rained, the sky cleared brightly, and as if waiting for that moment, the bell began to ring through the streets.
"A hero has no self."
Expressionlessly, Viola muttered.
"For others, only for others—separating oneself from oneself is what makes a hero."
Leaving those words, Viola walked outside.
The bell rang, the glass shattered, and Ladon appeared.
And Viola Oldina sortied.
As always, Viola, who had vanished with Ladon, returned to the city after half a day. As she took steps, cheers poured forth. Roars, praise, salutes, countless and countless sounds of applause filled the streets.
And Viola, as always...
"Ah."
As always, she did not let those sounds wash over her and head to the Grand Temple. She stopped walking. Then she approached one of the citizens pouring praise upon her.
As the citizen, who got to see the nation's hero up close, grew flustered, Viola tilted her head toward him.
"Who."
Viola Oldina asked.
"Who am I?"
"Yes...?"
"I asked who I am."
"L-Lady Viola Oldina, are you not? The glorious hero of the Kassel Kingdom..."
Clang—
The head of the citizen who answered thus shattered like glass. Splash—blood sprayed in all directions. The eyes of those beside the citizen shook, but they could neither scream nor flee anywhere.
The pressure created by a transcendent was like that.
"You."
Viola Oldina turned her head to the side.
To a middle-aged man next to her who was covered in blood from the head exploding, she asked again.
"Who am I."
The middle-aged man answered. You are Viola Oldina.
Again, clang—
With the sound of glass shattering, the middle-aged man's head flew off. Similar things repeated several times. Eventually the knights moved, but there was no one who could stop a transcendent. They too received the same question, and their heads were shattered in the same way.
"Who."
Viola looked down at her blackened fingers with empty eyes.
"I."
She burst into laughter.
"I, I, me? Ah, I. Myself."
Her wavering gaze eventually turned to an old woman. The moment she confirmed the old woman's appearance, Viola's eyes widened greatly. She seemed to know that old woman. Hastily running to the elderly woman, Viola grabbed both her shoulders and asked.
"Little sister, my beloved little sister."
Viola asked.
"You know, don't you. Who I am. You know what my original name is. Your and my mother's name was Olivier. Yes, I remember your name too! You're Mirentz."
Viola grabbed the old woman's shoulders and shook her vigorously.
"Then what is my name? Will you tell me my name? You might not remember. I'll help you—please tell me my name. What is the name of your sister who loved the piano? The name of your sister who dreamed of being a performer..."
So, Viola pleaded with the old woman.
"Tell me my name. Please, please I beg you, Mirentz."
The old woman called little sister by Viola could not answer that question. Terrified, with shaking eyes looking at Viola, she only answered.
You are Viola Oldina.
At that answer, Viola's lips hardened rigidly. Others had their heads shattered and lost their lives in one go, but the old woman was not granted such fortune. The old woman slowly shattered starting from her fingertips.
"Ah, ahahaha, ahahahak!"
Between the screams the old woman let out, Oldina laughed. That laughter at some point stopped with a thud, soundlessly.
"Who."
Her lips opened and closed repeatedly.
"Am I?"
Who am I.
Fallen Star, Viola Oldina.
The constellation who possessed the ability to detach herself from the world ultimately detached herself from herself.
Ding, daeng, ding...
The bell rang. But the sky did not shatter. Looking up at the sky, Ladon was not visible.
What shattered was Viola Oldina.
Centered on Viola Oldina, space shattered into pieces as if cracks running through glass.
"Ah, ha."
Viola Oldina laughed.
The evil dragon, Ladon, laughed.